Hello!
I know it's been a while since I've passed along an update so I wanted to send one briefly.
Yesterday I had a scan which is supposed to be used as a baseline. Meaning, if the bloodwork I have over the years ever shows a spike, they'd do a scan and compare it to the one I had yesterday. I was admittedly a little nervous, as the past few months tests kept showing showing things no one expected to see (i.e., more cancer). So I was thrilled to get the results that everything is totally normal. Praise God!
Unfortunately my body did not take kindly to the meds I had to drink before the test and yesterday afternoon/evening was incredibly rough...chills, temperature, vomiting,etc. The nurse I spoke to said she's not sure why they made me drink so much of the medicine (4 bottles) as the the most she's every heard anyone having to drink is 2.5. Needless to say my body freaked out. I'm getting ready to try food again in a few minutes so I hope it stays with me.
I am still waiting to get the genetic test results, which is of course a big deal. As I am still thrilled chemo is done, I'm not ready to say that my body has rebounded significantly yet. I usually have a part during the day that I feel somewhat ok and a part during the day that I feel yucky. I will only commit to two things/day which is often the max I can do, and occasionally I can't make it to two. The recovery process will be slow but I refuse to complain about any week that is not a chemo week.
Thanks for your continued prayers for my recovery. And of course I'd appreciate continued prayers that the genetic test results are negative. Off to try some food. Hopefully it'll go well! :)
Kathy
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
Update 4.12
Hi!
It's been a couple weeks since I've updated you so decided I wanted to write briefly.
As expected the chemo 2 weeks ago completely knocked me out. It took a long, long time to bounce back even a little so I couldn't have the second chemo. Therefore, I have (hopefully!!) had my last chemo. Woohoo!! I went in today for bloodwork to get clearance to be out and around in the world again and around germs. Thankfully I for the most part fall in the normal range and therefore I was just cleared by my nurse to do something very important: get a manicure and pedicure!!! I can't wait!!
So what does it look like from here?
1. Next week I get a scan which will serve as a baseline for future testing. I will get bloodwork done every 3 months and if an issue surfaces in the bloodwork they will do a scan to compare it to the one I get next week to see if anything shows up.
2. It has been three weeks since my blood was taken for the genetic testing. Good news is that my insurance has agreed to help pay for part of it. Bad news is that I qualify to have it paid for which means there's enough history in my family that they think I might have a genetic cause to these cancers. The result of these tests have a HUGE impact on my future and are very daunting to me. Should hear back in the next week or two.
3. Slow recovery. Every day is different. I will have pain in my abdomen and leg for 3 more months and fatigue is a huge issue. It is difficult for me to do anything before noon. And afternoons/evenings vary. Yesterday was (for me) pretty decent. Today however even the thought of moving from the couch causes my body to hurt.
Thanks for taking this journey with me. I'll keep you updated, especially on the scan and genetic testing. Additionally today I am mindful of a few friends I've met at chemo who I saw today at bloodwork. Three specifically that I've seen multiple times. Charlie is an older gentlemen who had to go to the hospital this week because his body was having a rough time. He and his daughter have crossed my path multiple times and he has a great smile. Ryan is a young guy in his second round of chemo. Though initially he was given a 90% chance of a cure, his first round of chemo failed and unfortunately he fell into 10% that didn't get the cure the first time around. Today I got to meet his wife as they headed in for chemo; I sympathize with how terrible this week will be for him and really want this second time to be the cure for him. Sue, a friend of Molly's, has also been in the chemo room with me; her husband has bought lunch for Molly and I more than once. I tear up as I feel so empathetic toward them and pray for their comfort and cure. While I'm hoping to never enter that chemo room again, my heart is with my friends who are there today and I'd love for you to pray for them too.
Love,
Kathy
It's been a couple weeks since I've updated you so decided I wanted to write briefly.
As expected the chemo 2 weeks ago completely knocked me out. It took a long, long time to bounce back even a little so I couldn't have the second chemo. Therefore, I have (hopefully!!) had my last chemo. Woohoo!! I went in today for bloodwork to get clearance to be out and around in the world again and around germs. Thankfully I for the most part fall in the normal range and therefore I was just cleared by my nurse to do something very important: get a manicure and pedicure!!! I can't wait!!
So what does it look like from here?
1. Next week I get a scan which will serve as a baseline for future testing. I will get bloodwork done every 3 months and if an issue surfaces in the bloodwork they will do a scan to compare it to the one I get next week to see if anything shows up.
2. It has been three weeks since my blood was taken for the genetic testing. Good news is that my insurance has agreed to help pay for part of it. Bad news is that I qualify to have it paid for which means there's enough history in my family that they think I might have a genetic cause to these cancers. The result of these tests have a HUGE impact on my future and are very daunting to me. Should hear back in the next week or two.
3. Slow recovery. Every day is different. I will have pain in my abdomen and leg for 3 more months and fatigue is a huge issue. It is difficult for me to do anything before noon. And afternoons/evenings vary. Yesterday was (for me) pretty decent. Today however even the thought of moving from the couch causes my body to hurt.
Thanks for taking this journey with me. I'll keep you updated, especially on the scan and genetic testing. Additionally today I am mindful of a few friends I've met at chemo who I saw today at bloodwork. Three specifically that I've seen multiple times. Charlie is an older gentlemen who had to go to the hospital this week because his body was having a rough time. He and his daughter have crossed my path multiple times and he has a great smile. Ryan is a young guy in his second round of chemo. Though initially he was given a 90% chance of a cure, his first round of chemo failed and unfortunately he fell into 10% that didn't get the cure the first time around. Today I got to meet his wife as they headed in for chemo; I sympathize with how terrible this week will be for him and really want this second time to be the cure for him. Sue, a friend of Molly's, has also been in the chemo room with me; her husband has bought lunch for Molly and I more than once. I tear up as I feel so empathetic toward them and pray for their comfort and cure. While I'm hoping to never enter that chemo room again, my heart is with my friends who are there today and I'd love for you to pray for them too.
Love,
Kathy
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Easter
Been a rough week here with chemo. Still hurting and haven't turned the corner yet. Glad it was the last chemo. A couple months ago I was asked to write a "what Easter means to me in this season of life" article for our church magazine. Thought I'd share it with you...
Cancer. Not a word any of us are interested in hearing. And certainly not a word I wanted or expected to hear after surgery a few months ago. That word started a journey into two more surgeries, two separate cancer diagnoses, the beginning of a chemotherapy more wretched than I can describe, and an end to some long-time dreams.
Yet when asked to write about what Easter means to me in this season in my life, I paused. Because in the deepest sense, even with my deplorable year so far, it means exactly the same thing to me this year as it did last year. The cross and resurrection of Jesus Christ are not just some long ago event that gave me a “get out of hell free card” that I packed away and plan to use someday. It’s what gave me Jesus, my favorite Person I’ve ever met. Easter is the place where Jesus purchased for me every amount of love and security I’ll ever need. It’s the place I turn for forgiveness and perspective when I daily run away to other places to look for the love and security I already have. It’s the place that lifted the weight of sin, fear, and despair from my shoulders and gave me instead freedom and peace. It’s the hope I have in death and the reason I want to know and serve Him. Easter is no different for me this year than last; it was and still is everything to me.
Admittedly though, experiences like cancer put us in a unique position to see things about Jesus that we might have missed otherwise. And that has been the case for me. It’s a position of suffering I wouldn’t have chosen and I pray ends soon. But it’s let me see Him a little more clearly and experience a tad more fully that which used to be just truths I’d read. For example…
I cannot believe Jesus stayed on the cross. I guarantee you I wouldn’t have. Only 24 hours into my first chemo as I lay in my bed in tears and “I feel like I’m dying” type of pain, all I wanted was out. And if given any option out I would’ve taken it. Jesus endured for hours, not just a physical pain more intense than mine, but the pain of the wrath of God. And He did not take the option of getting down from the cross. He didn’t bail on God’s glory or His followers. My heart almost stops as it considers the magnitude of His endurance in a new way. And it makes me wonder why I ever worry. If He didn’t bail on me then, there’s no way He’s bailing on me now… or ever.
I cannot fathom the power of the resurrection, the death it conquered, and the life it brought. I tear up as I call to mind the chemo room. Though the nurses are as kind and encouraging as you will find anywhere and admittedly some patients will be cured, nothing can hide all the death that room sees. Death of healthy white blood cells along with the cancer cells. Death of dreams. Death of physical comfort. Fear of losing ones you love. Tears of hopelessness as death nears. From the family member on the cell phone crying over the one they are losing, to the look of terror and disbelief in the eyes of a first-timer, to my friend who drove me to chemo this week and looked at me in tears and said, “I don’t know how you come here each week”, no one can measure the pain of the hundreds who walk in those doors each week. Yet in the course of the few days of Easter Jesus accomplished what doctors and nurses for centuries have tried to mimic: He destroyed death. Meditate on that. Jesus destroyed death.
As I meditate on that sentence, my mind and heart can only barely begin to apprehend Jesus’ power. My heart further kneels in humility before Him and melts with gratefulness that He stayed on the cross to exercise His power for me. For without Him…without Easter the chemo room wins. Death wins. Despair wins. Hopelessness wins. But because of and in Him eternal life triumphs over eternal death. Joy obliterates despair. Faith overcomes hopelessness. And another glimpse of Him here and the hope of gazing at Him in eternity reminds me why Easter did and still does mean everything to me.
Cancer. Not a word any of us are interested in hearing. And certainly not a word I wanted or expected to hear after surgery a few months ago. That word started a journey into two more surgeries, two separate cancer diagnoses, the beginning of a chemotherapy more wretched than I can describe, and an end to some long-time dreams.
Yet when asked to write about what Easter means to me in this season in my life, I paused. Because in the deepest sense, even with my deplorable year so far, it means exactly the same thing to me this year as it did last year. The cross and resurrection of Jesus Christ are not just some long ago event that gave me a “get out of hell free card” that I packed away and plan to use someday. It’s what gave me Jesus, my favorite Person I’ve ever met. Easter is the place where Jesus purchased for me every amount of love and security I’ll ever need. It’s the place I turn for forgiveness and perspective when I daily run away to other places to look for the love and security I already have. It’s the place that lifted the weight of sin, fear, and despair from my shoulders and gave me instead freedom and peace. It’s the hope I have in death and the reason I want to know and serve Him. Easter is no different for me this year than last; it was and still is everything to me.
Admittedly though, experiences like cancer put us in a unique position to see things about Jesus that we might have missed otherwise. And that has been the case for me. It’s a position of suffering I wouldn’t have chosen and I pray ends soon. But it’s let me see Him a little more clearly and experience a tad more fully that which used to be just truths I’d read. For example…
I cannot believe Jesus stayed on the cross. I guarantee you I wouldn’t have. Only 24 hours into my first chemo as I lay in my bed in tears and “I feel like I’m dying” type of pain, all I wanted was out. And if given any option out I would’ve taken it. Jesus endured for hours, not just a physical pain more intense than mine, but the pain of the wrath of God. And He did not take the option of getting down from the cross. He didn’t bail on God’s glory or His followers. My heart almost stops as it considers the magnitude of His endurance in a new way. And it makes me wonder why I ever worry. If He didn’t bail on me then, there’s no way He’s bailing on me now… or ever.
I cannot fathom the power of the resurrection, the death it conquered, and the life it brought. I tear up as I call to mind the chemo room. Though the nurses are as kind and encouraging as you will find anywhere and admittedly some patients will be cured, nothing can hide all the death that room sees. Death of healthy white blood cells along with the cancer cells. Death of dreams. Death of physical comfort. Fear of losing ones you love. Tears of hopelessness as death nears. From the family member on the cell phone crying over the one they are losing, to the look of terror and disbelief in the eyes of a first-timer, to my friend who drove me to chemo this week and looked at me in tears and said, “I don’t know how you come here each week”, no one can measure the pain of the hundreds who walk in those doors each week. Yet in the course of the few days of Easter Jesus accomplished what doctors and nurses for centuries have tried to mimic: He destroyed death. Meditate on that. Jesus destroyed death.
As I meditate on that sentence, my mind and heart can only barely begin to apprehend Jesus’ power. My heart further kneels in humility before Him and melts with gratefulness that He stayed on the cross to exercise His power for me. For without Him…without Easter the chemo room wins. Death wins. Despair wins. Hopelessness wins. But because of and in Him eternal life triumphs over eternal death. Joy obliterates despair. Faith overcomes hopelessness. And another glimpse of Him here and the hope of gazing at Him in eternity reminds me why Easter did and still does mean everything to me.
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